


Something Similar...

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Category: History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 17:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15846393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: Smut for the end of summer, Dakin/Irwin style





	Something Similar...

**Author's Note:**

> In January I resolved to post a fic every month this year and I never expected to have achieved it for this long so when I still had nothing yesterday I started panicking. I have a Scosner thing in the works but it's not ready yet so please accept this short porny ficlet I knocked up today (as such please forgive any glaring errors or poor prose).

 

The classroom is eerie when empty, the smell of chalk and cheap cleaning fluid hang in the air, and everything about the place feels unnaturally still.

 

The school is practically deserted at this time of day - even Felix is on his way home by now, so there’s no one around to catch them. Even so, the door is locked (and checked and double checked), just in case.

 

The screech of table legs across the floor is jarringly loud in the silence as Dakin pushes Irwin hard against the teacher’s desk.

 

Eagerly, Dakin glides his palms across his teacher’s shoulders and smoothes a trail down the length of his back. He is the one to close the distance between them, but Irwin responds without hesitation, his mouth opening hungrily under Dakin’s. Stepping closer, between Irwin’s thighs, he aligns their bodies, grinding his crotch against Irwin’s.

 

Never one to be predictable, Irwin’s movements are both gentle and furious all at once - A hand caresses the small of his back almost tenderly, whilst the other tugs on his tie, half-choking him with the effort to bring him closer, greedily demanding more. Dakin can feel him, hard against his leg and grins as Irwin whimpers into their kiss.

 

Resisting the pull on his neck, Dakin slides his hands down Irwin’s chest, fingertips brushing over bare skin in the space between each button and the next, teasing before retreating again. He persuades Irwin to ease his grip on the tie by taking his hand in his own. Irwin chuckles an embarrassed apology and makes up for it by trailing hungry kisses along Dakin’s neck.

 

Dakin feels powerful, irresistible, he feels _fascinating_. It’s addictive. Forcing himself to abandon the blissful frotting, he sinks into a crouch and gets to work deftly unfastening Irwin’s belt and fly.

 

Above him, Irwin lets out a shaky breath while Dakin takes a moment to plan his strategy. He’s never been this close to someone else’s cock before. Hard and heavy, it twitches in anticipation scant inches from his lips. The angle is strange but the mechanics must be the same – the likes and dislikes roughly similar.

 

He licks his lips, prompting a soft pleading sound from Irwin. Dakin touches his tongue to it, briefly tasting before lapping at the head in earnest before progressing to sliding his mouth around it; sticking to a rough imitation of what he enjoys himself.

 

He’s always been a fast learner and once he gets the hang of it it’s easy - Easy to bring Irwin to his metaphorical knees from his place on his literal ones. Groping blindly for Irwin’s hands, he prises them from their death grip on the edge of the desk and guides them to his head. Irwin gets the message and threads them into his hair, where each reflexive tug provides an ego trip like a shot of electricity down his spine.

 

After that, it’s all salt and aching jaw and cramping thighs, and relishing Irwin’s desperate panting.

 

“Dakin” he gasps

 

“Dakin”

 

“DAKIN!”

 

Beside him, Scripps knocks Dakin’s elbow, jogging his chin from his hand and startling him from his daydream.

 

Irwin is standing at the front of the classroom, frowning at him expectantly.

 

Dakin clears his throat. “Sorry, sir. I was miles away.”

 

“Pondering the invasion of Poland, I hope.”

 

Dakin smirks. “Something like that.”

 

He’s sure the faint blush on Irwin’s cheekbones is more than just his imagination.

 

Seizing the chance, Dakin clears his throat, stopping Irwin before he turns to somebody else. “Actually, Sir, I wonder if I could see you after class? I’ve got a question about tomorrow’s essay.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of Scripps shaking his head in disgust – an indicator that (possibly) he’s being a smidge too obvious.

 

Irwin shakes his head. “I’m teaching year eights next period, and you’re supposed to be with Mr Hector, I believe. We can go through what you’ve written after I’ve marked it if you like. No doubt it will benefit from some reworking.” He adds, catty as ever where feedback is concerned.

 

Dakin leans back in his seat. Not quite a ‘no’ but hardly the eager ‘yes’ he dreams of.

 

He envisages the long night that lies ahead of him, yet again agonising and crafting his essay into the small hours, spurred on by a desperate desire for that spark of interest and approval that the right answer will surely bring, along with his coveted place at Oxford.

 

Fiona will be disappointed.

 


End file.
